


I Wanna Be Adored

by FlorenceVassy



Category: Scott & Bailey
Genre: 1980s, F/F, Femslash, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlorenceVassy/pseuds/FlorenceVassy
Summary: Manchester, 1989.DCs Julie Dodson and Gill Murray are best friends and partners at the GMP. Section 28 has been in place for a year, and police raids on gay clubs are rising in frequency. When Julie reveals a secret, Gill is surprised by her reaction. Will it bring them closer, or tear apart their relationship and professional partnership forever?
Relationships: Julie Dodson/Gill Murray
Comments: 45
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

She let the cool water flood her face. Heat rising, she splashed her cheeks once more, before draining the sink and facing herself in the mirror. Her chest heaving, she tilted her head back and attempted to gain control of her breathing.

“Jules?”

Forget the steady breathing, then.

“You alright? ‘Ey, you’ve dripped water all down your front.”

Julie managed to catch her breath and flashed an unconvincing smile. “Fine, thanks, Gill.” She dabbed weakly at her wet shirt.

“Here,” Gill said, producing a tissue from her pocket and taking it upon herself to fix Julie’s mess, as usual.

They stood like that for a few moments, Gill pressing softly at Julie’s chest. Julie caught their reflection in the bathroom mirror and noted that the situation could easily appear indecent to anyone who happened to need the ladies’.

“Now,” she said, standing back to admire her handiwork. “Why don’t you tell me what made you run off?”

Julie sighed. Her best pal was nothing if not perceptive. And pushy. It was why she made such a great cop. They would always joke about Gill being her boss in the future, but even if Gill was only joking, Julie knew that it would one day be a reality.

“It was nothing, Gill, honestly,” Julie said, voice noticeably softer than her usually low and commanding Mancunian tones.

Gill hopped up onto the sink, and although increasing her small stature, she was far from level with her partner.

“Listen, lady, I am not leaving this bathroom until you tell me what’s upset you,” Gill replied, eyes darting around Julie’s face, searching for answers.

She sighed, and ran her hand through her ponytail, twiddling with the handkerchief she had knotted into it. This wasn’t how she had wanted to have this conversation, but she supposed there was never going to be this magically perfect moment for it, where it would all be okay.

“Smith and Wilson…we’re on this case,” Julie started, exhaling. “Two men. Gay men. Stabbed. Canal Street. And…they were laughing about it. Thought it was funny. That the poofters got what they deserved.”

She felt Gill’s eyes on her, but couldn’t meet her gaze. She picked at the skin on her thumb, knowing that she was going to make it bleed, again, but unable to stop herself.

“Two coppers, who are meant to be keeping these people—these vulnerable members of our community—safe, and they’re laughing at their bloody deaths.” She had picked too hard, felt the skin start to sting.

She finally returned Gill’s gaze, who was looking up at her, her little legs hanging off the side of the sink. The image reminded her of a schoolgirl skiving off lessons to smoke in the toilets.

“I’m sorry, Jules,” Gill said, staring up at her. “You shouldn’t have to hear that. It’s disgusting, it’s insensitive, it’s…wrong.”

Julie nodded in assent, eyes having drifted from Gill again, not knowing what to say next.

“Did you say anything?” she asked. Should have known that one was coming.

“No,” Julie said. “No, it’s difficult. You know what it’s like. Those dinosaurs don’t think me and you ought to be on the force as it is. Don’t want to rock the boat more than I have to.”

Gill nodded, soft curls bouncing against her forehead. She made a move to get up, but stopped as Julie opened her mouth and began to speak. She did have paperwork to be getting on with, but it could wait if it meant that Julie, famous for bottling things up, was about to open up to her.

“It’s just…” she started, unsure of where she was going, “they shouldn’t be on the force. If you have such a fundamental lack of respect for human life as to laugh at the battered bodies of men who are just…you know, different, to you, then…”

Gill brushed a curl to the side and gave a sympathetic smile. “Ignore them. Seriously. I know it’s shit, and you’re right, they don’t deserve to be in this job, but you can’t let it get to you. If you hold on to every shitty thing some old bastard copper says, you’ll never make it in this game.”

Julie began to pick at her thumb again, starting to wish she hadn’t said anything in the first place. “It’s not as simple as that, Gill—”

“Julie,” she said, trying her best not to sound impatient, “it _is_ that simple. You’re getting yourself worked up over these old blokes who joined the force in approximately 47 B.C. You need to keep a clear head. D’you think I let every single sexist comment or crass remark about my tits get to me? I don’t know why you hold on to this stuff so much. That’s the third time this week I’ve seen you in here, all sniffly about something someone has said. I don’t know why you’re letting a case that has nothing to do with you affect your personal life so much.”

Gill leaned back onto the sink, folding her arms, her eyes studying Julie’s face. She loved Julie, considered her her closest friend; since their first day on the beat together all those years ago, they’d been thick as thieves. She just couldn’t understand her sometimes. Especially not at the moment. The cases seemed to be getting to her more and more these days, she was taking things so much more personally. She was unlike the bright young thing from a few years ago, fresh out of uniform. It made Gill question if she even had it in her to become a sergeant.

Heat flooding her cheeks, Julie felt her breath catch again. She opened her mouth, unsure of what she was going to say, but unable to stop herself.

“And how would you know what affects me personally?”

Julie turned her back, and before Gill knew it, she had stormed past her out of the bathroom. She frowned, taken aback. It wasn’t like Julie to be so…huffy.

“Jules?” she said, jumping off the sink, her heels clicking against the tiles.

The door slammed shut. She was left alone, with only the scent of Julie’s perfume and the ghost of her words in the air.

* * *

Gill stared up at the ceiling, sighing. She turned to look at the clock: 3am. Not the worst hour that she’d seen,not by a long shot, but she was on the early tomorrow. Today.

She could pretend she’d had a particularly hard day, or that she had a headache that was keeping her up. But she’d be lying.

“And how would you know what affects me personally?”

The words hadn’t left her mind all day. They had worked the same shift, and Julie had avoided her eye at lunch. She had wordlessly dropped paperwork on her desk, her ponytail swaying as she walked away. Seven o’clock came and Gill thought better of asking if she fancied the pub, but before she could even consider asking, Julie had swept past, pulled her coat off the stand and left.

Why are you acting like a stroppy teenager? she wanted to yell. But she hadn’t. Just called out, “bye, then” after her, called her a moody bitch under her breath and all.

She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling that she and Julie had stared up at on many a night over the years. Gill lived somewhat closer to town than Julie, and a few more stops on the bus made all the difference after a long night on the lash. So they would crash through Gill’s front door, straight through onto the bed. On the messier nights, they would forget to take their makeup off, and would wake up with black streaks coating the pillows.

Some nights, neither of them could sleep, too wired from the night they had had, chatting shit to strangers and smoking free fags. So they would stay up and talk, lying on their sides, unable to see much but able to hear each other. Sometimes they would laugh so hard the bed would shake, and Gill could make out Julie’s broad yet slender shoulders rising and falling in the darkness. Julie was the only person who could make her laugh til her stomach hurt.

Sometimes Gill would pull and Julie would stay on the bus those extra few stops, winking from the window as it pulled away, onwards into Didsbury. Julie would ask for all the gory details on their next shift, and Gill would relate them with glee, enjoying the way Julie indulged her embellished storytelling.

Julie never really met anybody when they were out. It’s not as if no one was interested: the attention she received could make Gill feel rubbish on a bad day. Julie was tall and blonde and leggy and beautiful, all sharp angles and bones. Men in clubs and pubs were falling over themselves to ask her out. But she simply laughed them off, accepted their free drinks, and that was it.

She had never really questioned it before, just presumed that Julie wasn’t looking for a relationship. She was career-focused, and Gill well understood that working such unpredictable hours did not exactly make dating easy.

Sighing, she rolled onto her side, pulling the duvet up to her chin. Why was Julie being so weird? What did all these cases that seemed to be affecting her so much have in common?

Before she had time to slip into detective mode and analyse the situation, her alarm began to ring. It was 5am already, which meant she had spent two hours lying there, worrying herself about Julie.

“Things I do for that dozy mare,” Gill thought as she pulled herself out of bed and drew the curtains. Groaning as the bright morning flooded her vision, she realised she would need to talk to Julie if she was going to get any sleep in the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii! I've not written for these two before but I am just obsessed with their relationship, I couldn't resist. I'm so intrigued by them and their history and I've been thinking so much about what they would have been like as young coppers in 1980s Manchester, I just had to write this. I'm looking forward to updating soon with another chapter, although I'm sure you can all guess what J's big secret is...! Thoughts and comments most welcome as always.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And did you know desire's a terrible thing, the worst that I can find?"

It was a Thursday night and Julie Dodson was on it to get pissed.

Yes, she was on the early tomorrow, and yes, it was never a good idea to drink when upset, but she was already on the bus into town, so those concerns would have to wait until another day.

“I don’t know why you hold on to this stuff so much.”

Julie glared out the window, eyes tracking the mishmash of crumbling council houses and Victorian buildings that was South Manchester. This was where she had grown up, down Rusholme way. She had been a bright girl, bright enough to get into Manchester High School on a scholarship, bright enough that her teachers told her to get the hell out of Manchester soon as she turned 18, if she knew what was good for her. Clearly she didn’t know what was good for her, hadn’t the slightest clue.

She couldn’t abandon her home, even if it was so deeply entrenched in crime and vice that the press had taken to calling it “Gangchester”. She’d seen too many names of kids from her neighbourhood in the papers, gunned down in Moss Side, or caught dealing in Hulme. It was part of her motivation for staying; it wasn’t guilt, it was deeper than that. It was a sense that justice needed to be done, that she couldn’t leave behind those that the government seemed desperate to forget.

It was different for Gill, she supposed. Her upbringing hadn’t exactly been all peachy keen, but she’d had a better time of it than Julie. She was raised in Altrincham, a place that was a lot greener and leafier than the Curry Mile. She wasn’t wealthy, not by any stretch of the imagination…it was more down to a sense of security, and stability. Gill saw her parents every other weekend or so; Julie had moved out and never looked back.

“And how would you know what affects me personally?”

Julie cringed, thinking back on what she had said. It sounded like a quote from some cheesy American movie she and Gill would stick on after a long shift, not to watch, just as background noise as they sat with their thoughts.

She chewed at a hangnail, knowing that if it were anyone else, she could sweep it under the rug, pretend the conversation had never happened. But it was Gill, stupid, brilliant Gill, who attacked everything, even her personal life, as if it were a case that needed to be solved.

Why did she have to go and say that? Why couldn’t she just have left it? If she told her the first thing—a worrying enough prospect in itself—she knew she would cave and end up spilling the second, even worse thing.

Julie inhaled sharply, having torn the hangnail. She grabbed her jacket and hopped off the bus.

She supposed she ought to feel unsafe, coming here after what had happened to those two lads. But the truth was, she didn’t. It wasn’t the boys in The Union or any of the other bars that were there causing trouble. They were there to meet one another, dance, drink with others like them. And the attacks from members of the public, whilst utterly devastating, weren’t as frequent as an outsider might think.

No. Julie knew, alright, who was to blame for stirring up hatred and inciting violence in the community.

Two years ago, they’d begun Operation Spanner, looking into sadomasochism amongst gay men. It was grossly inappropriate, an imposition of personal morality onto the lives of others who were different. It waslittle more than an excuse to get them in for questioning, to poke around their business, see if they could charge them with anything under Section 28.

Over drinks one evening, Julie had protested.

“It’s just wrong. We shouldn’t be policing the consensual, legal activity between two adults, just because they’re men.” She downed the dregs of her drink, swirling the pint glass around in her hand.

“They’re just doing their jobs,” Gill replied, sipping her pint of cider.

Julie put the glass down on the table with a thud. “Is that really what you think?” she said, stunned. “Do you really think this op is anything more than a gross violation of people’s right to privacy in the name of Thatcher and all things homophobic?”

Gill frowned, her eyes darting around the pub. “Keep your voice down!” she said, hushed. “I may not necessarily think what we’re doing is right, but I think it’s the law and we have a duty to uphold it.”

Julie rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Next you’ll be telling me you think all gay men have AIDS,” she said, loud enough not to care that she’d drawn looks from people at other tables.

She had arrived at her destination, 61 Bloom Street. A group of girls ran a disco there every month, and Julie had attended on and off for the last couple of years. She walked in and immediately spotted Cheryl, a teacher whom she’d become friends with since the first time Julie came to the disco, all bright-eyed and unknowing.

“Y'aright, our kid?” Cheryl said, her Manc accent strong as ever, stronger than Julie’s ever was.

Cheryl was blonde and blue-eyed, the sort of girl you’d imagine had a boyfriend named Terry waiting at home for her to cook his tea. She was clever, teaching geography at the girls’ school in Withington. She and her partner, Zoe, lived together down in Fallowfield. They’d had to become more careful and more discrete since Section 28 had come in. The Conservatives who’d supported the measure were of course more concerned with the perceived perversions of gay men, but the clause intended to clamp down on anyone who promoted the “acceptability of homosexuality.” As a teacher, Cheryl had to be incredibly private, as any mention of her sexuality or relationship meant she risked not just being out of a job, but being sat in a cell.

This was why Julie was so hesitant to reveal her line of work. Some girls were unbothered, but she could count on more than two hands the amount of times she’d been called any combination of“traitorous”, “self-hating”, and “scum”. She understood it, too; if she was in their position, she’d likely be slinging the same names. Things had gotten worse in the last year—more raids, more surveillance, more stings—and this contradiction was frankly eating Julie alive.

Cheryl was one of the ones who understood, who Julie had let in, so to speak. She still criticised the police, openly, and usually brazenly, but she understood Julie’s situation, realised how torn up she was.

“Seen better days, Chez,” Julie said, smiling softly.

“I know that look,” Cheryl said, returning her smile, and pouring Julie a glass of wine. “That’s your ‘I’m Upset With Gill, Who I’m Very Deeply In Love With, Who Doesn’t Love Me, Doesn’t Even Know I’m Gay Look—”

“Knock it off,” Julie said, hastily drawing the glass of wine to her lips. After a gulp, she sighed and said, “but you’re not far from the truth.”

Cheryl smiled sympathetically. “I think you need to tell her, Jules,” she said, reaching up to play with her bright pink scrunchie. Julie looked alarmed, and she continued, “not that you love her and want to spend the rest of your lives together. But I think you need to at least tell her you’re a lesbian.”

Julie still looked stressed, was fiddling with the skin around her nails, so she reached out across the table for her hand. “Look,” she said, “she’s a smart girl, Gill, or at least she is from what you've told me. She’s gonna figure out what’s eating you sooner or later, and wouldn’t you rather be the one to tell her than for her to piece it together on her own? She’s your best friend, for God’s sake, she cares about you. She’s clearly worried about you.”

Julie nodded, giving Cheryl’s hand a squeeze. That was the thing about this place, no matter whether you were butch or as Barbie-like as Cheryl, a copper or an AIDS activist, you were all the same, really, when it came down to it. Had all faced that same fear of rejection from the girl you like, had parents who’d kicked you out, had to live in fear of losing your job. That was what Gill was missing, the understanding of what it was like.

“‘Ey,” Cheryl grinned over her glass of wine, “perhaps when you’ve told her, you can bring her here.”

They looked at each other before bursting into laughter. DC Gill Murray at a gay women’s disco. Now there was a thought.

* * *

Julie leant against the wall, taking a deep breath of a cigarette she wasn’t meant to be smoking. She’d ended up staying out far later than she intended, heading back to Cheryl’s with her and her partner Zoe. Copious amounts of wine later, they were all doing their best Kate Bush impressions until a neighbour banged on the wall and Julie realised it was probably time for her to leave if she was going to make her shift. The banging headache that greeted her when her alarm went off just a few hours later made her feel she was entitled to a fag or two.

“Oi, slap, what happened to no smoking?”

Gill appeared in front of her, draining her coffee mug. She clearly wasn’t the only one to have had a sleepless night then.

“Didn’t realise you were me mother,” Julie said, staring at her, before they both broke into a smile.

Gill nestled up to her and leant against the wall. “Gis a drag,” she said, and Julie held the cigarette out in front of Gill’s mouth, knowing what she was like for nicking fags and never paying it back.

Gill leaned in, taking the cigarette, her lips grazing Julie’s fingers. The touch made her heart race. Her hair, pulled haphazardly into a topknot, brushed against her neck, and Julie fought every fibre in her body telling her to do it, to kiss her there, soft and slow.

She exhaled, the long drag producing a cloud of smoke. “Ta, slap,” Gill said, leaning back against the wall. Julie nodded in response, returning to her cigarette with a slightly shaky hand. An unusual silence passed between them, until Gill spoke.

“You gonna tell me what yesterday was all about, then?” she said, eyes straight ahead, arms behind her back.

“You really wanna know?” Julie said, her gaze also off in the distance somewhere, unable to or unwilling to look at Gill.

“Of course I do,” Gill said, pushing off from the wall and coming to stand in front of Julie so she had no choice but to look at her. “You’re my best mate, Jules. I care about you. I…I’m sorry for being so pigheaded yesterday.”

Julie threw the fag to the ground, stamping it out with the heel of her boot. “Is that…an apology, I hear from Gill Murray? Excuse me, I’ve just gotta go and ring the Manchester Evening News!” she said, smiling, and miming a phone call.

“Shut up,” Gill said, elbowing her, “else I’ll take it back. Listen—”

“Sorry, girls—Murray, Stuart wants to see you,” Colin, another DC, said, approaching from the door.

“What about?” Gill asked.

“Not sure,” Colin replied. “He said it was important, though.”

“Shit—I forgot to PNC a reg,” Gill said, suddenly alarmed. “Er, Julie, dinner? Later? At mine?”

“Yeah, course,” Julie said, smiling, hoping the extent of her happiness wasn’t too obvious.

“Oh, Dodson, fancy a fag?” Colin asked, pulling his light out.

“Oh, no thanks, Col, I’m meant to be giving up,” she replied.

“No she’s not!” Gill called. She turned as she got to the door. “She’ll have one more, Colin,” she said, winking at Julie as Colin lit her cigarette.

Julie frowned quizzically as Colin launched into talk about the case. She nodded and smiled at the right moments, allowing Colin to indulge his speculations as to the identity of the attacker, but all Julie could think about was what she was going to wear tonight, and how she was going to tell Gill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story is kind of running away with me, but like, in a good way. Hope you all like reading about the history of gay Manchester!!! No but for real hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. I really love these two and am loving writing something about them that feels realistic to the time. Thoughts and feedback appreciated as always:)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Only love can break your heart, try to be sure right from the start'

Julie pulled her shirt sleeve up, checking the time on her watch. 7:34. Huh. Only half an hour or so late.

She rolled the pink sleeve back down, pulling her ponytail taut, fidgeting with the pale white handkerchief threaded into it. Gill knew by now that Julie ran on Julie Time, where if she said 7 o’clock, the best she could hope for was 7:30 with a rubbishy excuse and a bottle of wine.

She’d slept at Gill’s house probably more times than she’d slept in her own bed, the amount of times they’d traipsed back to hers after the pub, or rolled into a cab back there after a night out. And yet she was still nervous, still had to fight to swallow her breath, to calm her shaky hands.

She had to tell her.

The first time Julie realised how she felt about Gill was down the boozer one night after a shift, a year or so ago. Gill wasn’t there; she was on a date with some lad who Julie silently thought wasn’t good enough for her, wasn’t clever enough, didn’t have the wits to keep up with her. So it was just her and Colin and the other DCs, chatting shit, slinging insults, the usual post-shift session. She was thinking about getting off soon. She’d had a long day, losing a suspect on a chase at the last minute, and was ready for her bed. Besides, the conversation had moved onto football, which she took as her cue to leave.

Julie thought she would remember the way she felt when Gill walked in for the rest of her life.

Her curls bouncing on her shoulders, she appeared at the bar, eyes darting about, searching for their group. She was clutching her denim jacket, which she nearly dropped as she raised a hand to wave at Julie. She felt her stomach flip as Gill approached, her white crop top inching up her waist. She squeezed into the booth next to her, dropping her jacket onto Julie’s lap.

She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed her, how much she’d needed her. She thought it was normal to think your best friend was the most beautiful girl in the world, to think about her constantly, to be in a bad mood when you weren’t on the same shift as her. She thought it was normal to be agonising over the hours not spent with her, for her face to light up as soon as she entered a room, to think that her laugh sounded better than any record ever could.

“Y’alright, slap?” Gill said, turning towards her, her lovely face only inches from Julie’s.

Julie realised she hadn’t said anything yet, had been off in her own head, panicking.

“You’re beautiful,” she blurted out, unable to say anything else. Shit.

Gill looked at her for a second, then smiled, wide and genuine. “D’you think so?”

“Yes,” Julie said immediately. Shit.

She couldn’t take her eyes off her if she tried. She was lovely, all cheekbones and dark-eyed, her legs bare in the tiny denim thing wrapped around her waist. A moment of quiet passed between them, and Julie felt like they were the only two people in the heaving pub full of punters, in the whole of Manchester—fuck it, in the whole of the universe.

“Ta, Jules,” Gill said, pulling her back out of Julie Land and into the pub. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, after a moment, digging her in the ribs and taking a swig of Julie’s pint.

That was it, then. That was the moment she’d realised just how fucked she was.

“What time d’ya call this, lady?”

There she was again, pulling her out of Julie Land for Closeted Coppers in Love with Their Partners, and into reality, where she was stood, in very real reality, on Gill’s doorstep, brandishing an apology bottle of wine.

“Sorry, I’m late, I know,” Julie said, sheepish all of a sudden.

Gill took the bottle from Julie’s hand, the unexpected touch making her heart race faster. She held it up into the light, peering at the label.

“And where’d you pull this fine vintage from then?” she asked, cocking her head. “Out your arse?”

“No, actually, the bargain bin down the offie,” Julie replied, straight-faced as ever.

Gill returned her look with an even blanker one, before they both burst into laughter.

“Get in here, lady, before I change my mind,” Gill grinned, stepping aside to let Julie pass.

* * *

They had finished dinner—Gill had made her classic chicken curry, and Julie was starting to suspect she didn’t know how to cook anything else—and were lounging on the sofa, drinking wine as two sophisticated women in their mid-twenties thought they ought to.

“God,” Gill said, choking from laughter, “d’you remember the time you fell asleep in that smoking area?”

“How could I forget?” Julie cried, threading her fingers through her ponytail. “I was so smashed I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. And the bouncer came over, and you said—”

“‘Leave her alone, she’s just having a hard time!’” Gill shrieked, finishing the anecdote in unison. “Oh my God, he must have thought we were crazy. I don’t know why that was the only thing my brain could come up with.”

Julie scoffed, draining her glass. “I think I can solve that little mystery for you, DC Murray. It was the amount of alcohol that you had consumed. And promptly threw up as soon as we were escorted out.”

Gill was cackling now, tears welling in her eyes. “I think,” she said, through sobs of laughter, “those splatters of vomit are still visible on Princess Street to this day.”

They laughed a little more, their chests rising and falling, until they fell into a comfortable silence, glancing about Gill’s living room. They had spent so much time together in this room, collapsing about in fits of laughter like they had just done moments ago. They had also cried together; well, Gill had, after breakups and heartbreaks. Julie would come over, bearing a takeaway and wine, and Gill would cry it out, and swear off men altogether, and they would watch _Grease_ or some other old favourite, and all would be well in the morning (if you ignored the hangover).

“So,” Gill said, finally breaking the quiet that had fell between them. “You going to tell me what’s up, slap?”

Julie shook her head, flicking her fringe from her eyes. “No, honestly Gill, it’s…it’s not important,” she said, smiling what she hoped was a convincing smile.

Gill got up from the armchair and moved in next to Julie on the sofa. She smelled sweet, like shampoo and lavender, the silk of her blouse soft against Julie’s arm. “You can tell me, Jules. Talk to me,” she said, smiling, giving Julie’s hand a squeeze.

Julie exhaled, turning to face her best friend. So, this was it then. The moment she’d been building up to in her head for months—probably, years, if she was being honest with herself—had arrived.

“You asked me why I cared so much about this case,” Julie started, trying to steady her breathing, aware of Gill’s hand, so much smaller than her own, pressing softly into hers. “Which is a fair question. We both know how important it is to keep yourself distanced from the job, and I’ve been failing to do that.”

Gill looked at her quizzically, urging her on with those dark eyes.

“It’s…hard to explain,” Julie said, in a voice so quiet it felt like it barely belonged to her. “I’ve known, ever since I was a girl, really, that I was different, somehow…”

She thought back on her childhood, how she had always been the awkward, lanky one. The scholarship to the high school had been both a blessing and a curse; she had flourished at that school, in a way she wouldn’t have done at the awful Catholic school in Rusholme, where she’d heard horror stories of the sisters doling out beatings with rulers, but with her accent and her rubbishy hand-me-down satchel, she’d stuck out like a tall, working class thumb.

It was P.E. she’d feared the most. She’d come up with excuse upon excuse to be sent to the library or the sick bay—headaches, periods, stomach aches—but it was no use. She was told to pull her socks up and get on with it.

It was what had made her so tough. They used to laugh at her rubbish trainers, whisper loudly that she would look at them whilst they were changing if they weren’t careful, call her a dyke if they thought the teacher wasn’t listening. It was perhaps also what had made her so cold.

“It’s alright, slap,” Gill said encouragingly, giving her hand another squeeze.

Julie smiled at this, feeling the familiar sense of love and warmth that being around Gill always brought her. She pressed on, knowing she had to tell her.

“The thing is, Gill,” she said, swallowing, “I’m a lesbian.”

There was no going back now. She was filled with relief at letting go of something she had been holding on to since she was twelve years old, the nervous energy draining out of her.

“I’ve known for a long time,” she continued, nodding her head, “and it’s been eating me alive. I was so nervous to tell you, I kept meaning to, I just…”

She trailed off, unsure of what to say next. She gave Gill’s hand a squeeze, but was surprised when she pulled away.

“Gill?” Julie said, confused, heat beginning to flush her cheeks, heart starting to pound.

“I’m…” Gill started, brow creased. “Okay.”

She got up and began to tidy the mess of plates and glasses littering the living room. Julie stared at her from the sofa, not knowing what to do next. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Gill?” Julie repeated, unable to say much else.

“I’m fine,” she replied, busying herself with the bottles. “I understand now.”

“Here, let me help,” Julie said, getting up and taking the plates off Gill who was struggling to balance it all. “You cooked after all, can’t have you washing up now—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gill snapped, looking up at her, her eyes searching her face, her chest quickly rising and falling. “Thought I was your best mate. Thought we told each other things.”

Julie tilted her head, biting her lip. “It’s not that simple, slap. It’s a really personal thing…”

“You never pull anyone,” Gill breathed, and Julie swore she could hear actual cogs turning inside her detective brain. “All the lads I’ve tried to set you up with…”

Julie shrugged, gave a tight-lipped smile. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“You called me beautiful,” Gill said with a slight gasp.

Shit. Why did she have to remember that?

Julie twiddled with her hair, not sure what Gill wanted her to say.

“I need to just…I need to think,” Gill said, voice shaky. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

And just like that, Julie was stood on her best mate’s doorstep, not sure if they were best mates anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Reality, it seems, was just a dream. She couldn't get it on with the boys on the scene"

It was Friday night and Julie Dodson was on it to get pissed.

Overkill? Perhaps. She’d already done the exact same thing once this week, it was starting to become routine: get upset with Gill, drink it off, make up with Gill. Although this time, she wasn’t sure whether step three would be apart of the equation.

Why was she acting so weird? Gill was the sort of person to say exactly how she felt, reveal exactly what she thought, but she had just completely avoided the massive, weighty secret Julie had been holding in for years. What should have been a moment of relief, where she was finally able to share her life, her whole life, with her best pal, had been awkward and unsatisfying. She had arrived at Gill’s feeling so nervous her heart was fluttering, and had come away feeling hurt.

She wasn’t just hurt, actually. She was angry. Gill was meant to be her best mate, but she’d just acted like she barely knew Julie. She knew that it must have been a bit of a shock to find out that she was gay, but she hadn’t expected her to react like that. Julie balled her hands into fists as she stomped down the road, remembering what Gill had said.

“Thought I was your best mate. Thought we told each other things.”

That wasn’t fair, Julie thought, her boots clicking against the pavement with each stride. She had told Gill something that is so personal, something which very few people in her life know about, and she managed to make it about her. “That is fucking typical Gill,” she thought.

She stopped suddenly, leaning against a lamppost. She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her, felt tears pricking in her eyes.

It wasn’t typical Gill. She could be demanding, and she loved telling a good story, and yes, sometimes being the centre of attention. But she was kind. She would do anything for those she loved, move the world there and back. She was beautiful, not just physically—Julie knew that more than anyone—but emotionally, spiritually, intellectually. She made Julie laugh so hard her abs hurt, and made her stomach do somersaults every time she entered a room. She made her happier than anyone had ever done before.

She was in love with Gill.

Panting, Julie wiped her eyes and carried on walking. She had reached Fallow now, and her boots were starting to rub. She passed a bus stop and had a quick scan of the timetable to see when the next bus home was. A bottle of gin in the cupboard and a Kate Bush record were calling her name.

Then she spotted a familiar head of blonde hair across the street.

“Cheryl,” Julie called, waving her arm. Cheryl turned and looked about, before noticing Julie and smiling widely.

“Alright Jules?” she said, running across the road to meet her, narrowly avoiding a lorry. “What you up to?”

Julie sighed, pulling at her ponytail. “Not much. On my way back from Gill’s, actually.”

“Oh?” Cheryl said, raising her eyebrows. “And?”

“And…” Julie said with a laugh, “it was terrible. She, um, she went quiet, and then she asked me why I hadn’t told her before, and then she brought up the time I told her she was beautiful, before telling me she’d see me on Monday.” She had stopped laughing. She felt tears begin to well up in her eyes, and Cheryl reached out and rubbed her arm.

“‘Ey,” she said softly, “it’s okay.”

Her kindness only made Julie’s tears fall harder, making her feel ridiculous. She hated letting her guard down, never wanted anyone to know when she was upset. If she was psychoanalysing herself, she supposed it went back to her time at school, where she had to keep a cold front, couldn’t let the other girls know that they were getting to her.

Cheryl’s arms closed around her as she brought Julie in for a hug. “It’s gonna be okay,” she said, rubbing her back.

She pulled away after a few moments, and Julie smiled, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Hey, how about we go for a drink?” Cheryl asked, grinning cheekily.

“ _A_ drink?” Julie scoffed. “The evening I’ve had, try at least seven.”  
  


* * *

  
Gill was lying on her living room floor, hands on her forehead. What on earth had she just done? And why?

Julie had told her something deeply personal, something she had clearly been building up to tell her for…weeks? Months? Possibly years? And Gill had reacted by saying nothing, and essentially chucking her best mate out onto her doorstep?

“Nice one, Murray,” she thought, getting up to finally do the dishes that had been sat in the sink since Julie had left.

It wasn’t that she was a homophobe. She thought that men and women should be allowed to do whatever they like, providing it’s legal, of course. It was more the deception that had upset her, the fact that she felt she’d been lied to. She loved Julie, so much that she thought her heart could burst with the love she held for her. It hurt her that this clearly wasn’t something Julie felt she could have come to her with earlier, made her doubt their closeness as friends.

“You called me beautiful.”

Why the hell had she brought that up? That had nothing to do with anything, had just made her look like even more of a pearl-clutching homophobe.

Perhaps she’d said it for a reason. Perhaps it had something to do with anything. She wasn’t a homophobe but she had been incredibly intimate with Julie in a way that she perhaps wouldn’t have been if she had known. They’d got changed in front of each other—had Julie ever looked? They had shared a bed…and with HIV and everything…could lesbians get it? Did Julie have it?

Gill dropped the cutlery into the sink with a hard splash, cringing at herself. No, she had to cut that out. She couldn’t say she wasn’t homophobic and then go on like that, exactly the way a homophobe thinks.

She exhaled, leaning with her back against the sink. Julie. She had to speak to Julie, to tell her how sorry she was, that she didn’t know why she had reacted like that. She had to make things right.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was too late to ring now; besides, she might not even have gone home. She knew what Julie was like. If she was upset, rather than talk about it to her or anyone else, she’d tell her troubles to a bottle of beer. She was probably in the local right now, head down, talking to no one, stone-faced as she always was when upset.

Better to give her space, let her sleep it off. So Gill headed to bed, determined to get a proper night’s rest for once instead of laying up all til the early hours worrying about her best mate, but after a couple of hours of tossing and turning, she shuffled into her slippers and padded downstairs for a glass of water.

She sat on the sofa, where she and Julie had sat only a few hours earlier, laughing their heads off about the stupid shit they’d got up to together. Gill smiled, remembering one particularly heavy night when they had attempted the Didsbury Dozen, but had had to call it a night around number six, which was pretty poor form from them. Julie had made the fatal error of having eaten nothing but a crisp sandwich before they’d left (Gill was sure the woman was malnourished) and was steaming after the third pint.

They had stumbled down the road and tumbled straight into Julie’s bed. They were both shattered—they’d both been on a late the night before—but they still managed to talk and giggle until the sun came up. Gill had slept in one of Julie’s t-shirts, which looked like more of a dress on her, and they had woke up and had a late breakfast in bed.

Gill’s cheeks flushed red and her stomach turned. Had Julie had indecent intentions when they had shared a bed?

She got up from the sofa suddenly, shaking her head, as she picked up the phone and began to dial.  
  


-  
  


“You're telling me you’ve never done the Didsbury Dozen?” Julie cried, slamming her pint glass on the table. “And you call yourself a Manc!”

Cheryl scoffed, giving Julie a jab with a coffin-shaped nail. “Oi, just because some of us aren’t functioning alcoholics! We don’t all spend our lives in the pub, Jules.”

Now it was Julie’s turn to scoff. “Ah yes, teaching—famously a teetotal profession, isn’t it?”

The pair erupted into laughter, drawing looks from the old regulars who’d been in there since breakfast time, knocking back mugs of ale. Julie hadn’t realised until now how much she had needed this, how much she valued Cheryl as a friend. She loved Gill, and loved spending time with her; that was evident from the way her heart slammed against her chest every time she entered a room. But she couldn’t talk to her about the sorts of things she could with Cheryl. They both understood what it was like to have to live in constant fear—fear of being attacked, of losing your job, of being exposed, God, with the way things were at the moment, fear of contracting HIV, even.

And it wasn’t just the shared sense of fear that bonded them. It was being able to talk about it freely: to talk about the cute girl on the bar who you swore was flirting with you, and about hookups gone disastrously wrong. Not that Julie was doing much hooking up these days.

“It’s gonna be alright, you know.” Cheryl reached across the table and gave Julie’s hand a pat.

“I know,” Julie sighed, nodding.

“And if not,” Cheryl said, taking a swig from her pint, “fuck her. You don’t need her. Certainly don’t need to be wasting your time chasing after a straight girl.”

Julie nodded, trying to ignore the pang she felt at the reminder that Gill could never feel the way that she felt for her.

“You could get any girl you wanted down on Canal Street, and you know it,” Cheryl continued, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh Julie Dodson, come off it!” she cried, in response to Julie’s eye roll. “You are bloody lesbian catnip!” she hissed, lowering her voice in the crowded pub. “You’ll be fine. You’re gorgeous.”

Julie shook her head, blushing. She knew that she was popular down the disco and the few other lesbian spots in Manchester but Cheryl’s compliments made her feel awkward.

“No one has ever said that,” she said, with a laugh that came out as more of a cough.

Cheryl sidled into the booth next to her, a cloud of perfume in her wake. Julie felt the alcohol rush through her veins as Cheryl’s bare thigh pressed against hers. Her hand, with her bright pink nails, clasped Julie’s in her own.

“You’re lovely, Jules,” Cheryl said, her blue eyes bright and sparkling. “Always have been.”

She moved in, her lips hovering against Julie’s, her chest rising and falling. Any closer was too dangerous. They weren’t in town, surrounded by other women like them; they were in South Manchester, surrounded by men who’d get a sick thrill from busting their lips.

“Not here,” Julie breathed, pulling away from Cheryl. “Yours is quicker,” she said, starting to put on her jacket, in an incredible hurry all of a sudden.

“Not mine,” Cheryl said. “Zoe…”

“Mine then,” Julie replied, slinging her bag over her shoulder and walking out of the pub.

She knew why she was doing this. She was a bit sloshed, and upset, and Cheryl was a good friend who she trusted. She’d also be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to her. Like Julie, she was tall, and her golden hair and strong features meant she was constantly being hit on by the teachers at the school (“male chauvinist pigs”, as she called them). Julie supposed she ought to feel bad about what she was doing, but she was pissed and her heart was aching and Cheryl was pretty and making herself available. So she didn’t.

Gill would probably think badly of her, tell her she needed to sort herself out and stop messing with people in relationships. Then she would cave and ask for all the juicy details, which Julie would inevitably have to be rather vague about in order to avoid revealing that she was, in fact, describing another woman.

Locking the door behind her, she poked her head around her housemate’s door to check she was asleep, before pulling Cheryl into the living room and pressing her against the wall. She moved in and pressed her lips against Cheryl’s, who responded by snaking her hand round the back of Julie’s head, pulling her in closer.

“Jules?” Cheryl breathed, pulling away.

“What?” Julie said, anxious to get on with it, her hand finding its way under Cheryl’s top.

“Your answering machine's beeping,” Cheryl said.

“I’m sure it can wait,” Julie replied with a grin, leading her upstairs, trying her best to push all thoughts of Gill sodding Murray out of her mind for one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this up!! Moved into my new house which has taken up lots of precious writing time. Hope you like this instalment...I have much planned for future chapters. Thoughts appreciated as always!!


	5. Chapter 5

Julie awoke the next morning to a throbbing head and a sinking in her stomach. She pinched her nose, groaning as she remembered how much they had had to drink and what she had done. She turned to Cheryl, her locks golden against the chintz mustard sheets Julie had bought from Farooq’s down in Rusholme, her chest rising and falling in peaceful sleep. That made one of them.

She forced herself to get up. Julie was no stranger to a hangover, and the head she had on now didn’t even begin to touch the worst of them. The first thing she needed was food, and copious amounts of water. She knocked on the door of her housemate, Caroline, to see if she wanted breakfast by way of apology for any noise she and Cheryl may or may not have made in the night, but her door was locked, meaning she was out for the day. Julie exhaled a little, relieved at avoiding the prospect of an incredibly awkward breakfast, as she knew full well that she and Cheryl had not been quiet.

“Alright, our kid?”

Julie turned to see Cheryl traipsing downstairs, still in the t-shirt she had lent her.

“Not so bad, yourself?” Julie said, returning her attention to the hob, feeling awkward all of a sudden.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Cheryl replied, hopping up on the counter next to where Julie was cooking eggs.

“Look Cheryl, I—”

“Don’t apologise, love,” Cheryl said, smiling softly. “Last night was my decision as much as yours. I knew full well what I was doing when I were sat next to you in that booth. It’s my bed to lie in…not yours.”

Julie looked up at Cheryl, her lovely eyes flitting about Julie’s face. She smiled, pressing Cheryl’s hand into her own. “Thanks, Chez.”

She wanted to say something else, something more, but wasn’t sure what. Cheryl seemed to sense this, and hopped off the work surface.

“Doing me a cooked breakfast, are you? Ooh, I might stop here more often,” she said, grinning as she grabbed the cutlery to set the table.

“Watch these eggs for me, will you, while I hop in the shower,” Julie said, patting Cheryl on the arm before running upstairs.

The water ran over her body, but she barely felt the heat—there was a terrible draught from the bathroom window that her landlord had been avoiding fixing for going on three months. Her cheeks were flushed and her head was warm to touch, as she always felt the day after drinking. She had heard what Cheryl had said, but it hadn’t done much to assuage her guilt at having done a bad thing. She could hear Gill’s voice in her head, even now: “you slut! Bloody hell, Jules!” She shook her head, willing Gill to bug off out of her brain for once.

Teeth cleaned and hair brushed, Julie bounced downstairs, rubbing at the gnawing feeling in her stomach telling her she needed to eat something. She could hear voices, and she blushed, realising Cheryl must be having an uncomfortable conversation with Caroline. The sight that greeted her when she reached the bottom of the stairs was not at all what she had expected.

“Gill?”

There stood Gill Murray, in her kitchen, at 10:30am on a Sunday, next to Cheryl, who was stood wearing nothing but Julie’s t-shirt and her underwear.

“Clearly, this is a bad time…” Gill started, barely meeting Julie’s eye.

“No, it’s not, it’s—” Julie said, eyes fixated on Gill.

“I was just about to make myself scarce,” Cheryl announced, eyes darting between the two of them. “I’ll be out of your hair in two ticks.”

Before either of them could object, Cheryl had bounded upstairs, leaving Gill and Julie alone. They were both wordless; Gill clutching at the strap of her bag, Julie rubbing her arm awkwardly, until they both spoke at the same time.

“What are you—”

“She seems—”

“No, sorry, you go on,” Julie said, throwing her hands up.

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” Gill replied. It was weird being so polite. They were never this polite.

“I, er, was gonna say, what are you doing here?” Julie said, finally, scratching the back of her head.

“You didn’t get my message?” was all Gill said.

“Er, no. I was…” Julie’s voice trailed off, as her eyes motioned upstairs to where Cheryl was.

“Right, right,” Gill said, a touch too quickly. “Well, I left you a message, just to say that I was coming over, just to clear the air, really, but clearly you’re busy, so…”

Cheryl appeared, pulling her jacket on. “Nice to meet you, Gill,” she called. “And Jules, I’ll see you later, then.”

She pulled the door shut behind her, and Gill and Julie were once again left on their own.

“Cuppa?” Julie ventured. Gill nodded, wordless, once again.

* * *

They were sat in Julie’s living room. Gill’s eyes scanned the room she had sat in countless times before. On the wall opposite the cracked leather sofa she was currently sat on hung a print of Picasso’s ‘Weeping Woman’. There were throw pillows and a couple of blankets dashed about the room, clearly an attempt on Caroline’s half to brighten the place up. Julie had also tried to brighten her home by purchasing a copious amount of plants from the florists down on Oxford Road, but judging by the various dead and drooping leaves hanging about the room, it had been a failed attempt.

“So…she’s a girlfriend, or?” Gill said eventually, clasping the warm mug in her hands. It was just like Julie to refuse to switch the heating on until December at the very least.

“No. No, no. No. She’s not…she’s not that,” Julie said, clearing her throat suddenly. “I don’t have…that.”

“You always got girls hanging around your kitchen in your t-shirts, then?” Gill said, sipping from her mug.

Julie looked positively alarmed, so Gill relented.

“I’m ribbing you, slap,” she said. Julie’s face softened at the sound of their mutual nickname. “She seemed nice,” Gill continued. “I liked her.”

“Did you?” Julie said, less of a question, more of a statement.

“Will I be seeing…more of her?” Gill probed, cautious.

“No, no…it’s nothing like that,” Julie said, scoffing slightly. “Cheryl’s a good pal. Nothing more than that, really.”

Gill nodded, draining the cup of tea. She sighed, wrapping a curl round and round her finger, trying to think of what to say. She wanted to apologise, to say that she was sorry for her frankly embarrassing behaviour, and that she loved Julie so much that she had stayed up all night, sick at the thought of losing her over something mindlessly ignorant that she had said.

Instead, she managed, “I’m not homophobic, you know.”

Julie leaned back in the chair, folding her arms as her long legs extended out in front of her. “Aren’t you?” she said, head cocked.

“No,” Gill replied with a shake of her head. She knew Julie was just teasing. “And I think you know I’m not. I just—”

“You were surprised,” Julie said. “And upset that I hadn’t told you. I get it, Gill. It’s just…you need to understand that it wasn’t easy for me to tell you, you know? It’s a big deal, telling your best mate something like this.”

Gill got up and crossed the small distance between her and Julie, crouching down before her. She took her hands in hers, running small circles across the backs of Julie’s palms.

“I hurt you, and…I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Jules. It was just a surprise, that’s all. I was being selfish.”

Julie smiled, leaning forward to meet Gill’s gaze. “I have to say, one thing I never imagined seeing in my life was Gill Murray on her knees, begging me to forgive her.”

“‘Ey, who said anything about begging forgiveness, lady?” Gill said, and they both erupted into laughter, Gill’s hand still pressed against Julie’s, right where it ought to be.

* * *

Friday rolled around and Julie was, once again, stressed, and wondering why she was even in the job in the first place.

Stuart had glossed over an important detail in the stabbing case, so she had spent the whole first half of her shift trying to call witnesses back in for second interviews. Sometimes she couldn’t understand how the man had even made Sergeant. Gill always said she should take it as evidence that she was up to the task of becoming a sarge. And Julie always supposed she was right but was yet to look into the exam.

On top of that, she had Smith doing the interviews with her, and he was in her ear, making crude comments and jokes without punchlines about the gay men who were available for reinterview. “Wouldn’t wanna be caught down an alley at night with him,” was a favourite phrase, and he was particularly pleased with “he makes Wayne Sleep look like Randy Savage!” Of course, there were also times where he opted for muttered slurs and curses which made Julie purse her lips, infuriated and unable to do anything.

Finally, lunchtime arrived and she headed to the break room, ready to reheat her tupperware of pasta and gulp down a large mug of tea.

“Fucking—”

But of course, nothing could ever be that simple.

Julie stomped out of the break room and down the corridor, her fists balled, ponytail swinging from side to side as she walked. Before she could get into the office, a familiar, tiny figure apprehended her.

“Where you off to at 120 miles an hour, lady?”

Julie stopped, her stony expression softening at the sight of Gill.

“I’m about to give those fucking…bastards a piece of my mind. I’ve just gone in to use the mic, after spending hours reinterviewing the same people because Stuart can’t be arsed to check his facts properly, and one of these absolute pigs has left an exploded Pot fucking Noodle in the microwave. I can’t take it anymore, I—”

Gill took Julie’s hand and led her down to the stairwell. She stood, leaning against the wall, eyeing Julie, her brow furrowed.

“Jules, is everything ok?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine, I just need to tell them that they can’t fucking treat this place like a shit tip and expect us to clean up after them. We’re coppers, just like them, Gill, not scullery maids,” Julie said, exasperated.

Gill gave a soft smile. She spoke in a low voice. “This isn’t about the Pot Noodle.”

“No? What is it about, then? O Mighty Knowing One?” Julie cried.

Gill sat down on the staircase, gesturing for Julie to sit next to her. They eventually got comfortable, Julie’s long legs crossing over Gill’s. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to say anything; just gave her that look that made the world stop, made her heart stop, made the thoughts and worries in her brain stop for one perfect moment.

“Still wanna burst in there and shout at them about being messy pigs? And give them more reason to think we’re just hysterical birds who ought to be working in the canteen, not working cases with them?” Gill said, cocking her head.

“Okay, maybe that’s not the best way to handle it…but doesn’t it anger you?” Julie said, turning towards the other woman, frowning in disbelief.

“Not this again, Jules…” Gill replied, shaking her head.

“I don’t understand you sometimes. You’re the fiercest woman I know, Gill. Are you not desperate for change? Don’t you think we deserve better?” Julie snapped, running a hand through her ponytail.

Her eyes studied Gill’s face, her chest tight with frustration. She loved Gill—was _in love with_ Gill—but this complacency bothered her so much. In private she called them great oinking pigs, did a scathing impression of their awful, and handsy, Chief Con, and after a few pints, could get quite angry about the way that they were treated. She had gone on a great rant once about the “lady truncheons” they had started issuing a few years ago (“are we like little Barbie dolls? Shall we get half size handcuffs as well for our tiny little ladies’ hands? Bullshit!”), but when it came to actually fighting back, she shrugged it off with a remarkable sense of aloofness.

“You know that I agree with you,” Gill said. “We’re treated like dog shit. It’s wrong. But if we fuss about it, it gives them more of an excuse to call us hysterical, sensitive, snowflakes…it’s in our best interests, as young women, to let it slide now so we can rise up the ranks and make a change in time. These old dinosaurs, their time’s gonna be up soon. We need to just…hang on.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Julie looking straight ahead, Gill staring at her, searching her face for some sign of recognition that she had actually heard what she had said.

“Wanna go out tonight?” was not exactly the response she had been expecting.

Gill cocked her head once again. “Anywhere in mind?”

“Yeah, actually,” Julie said, breaking into a grin. “It’s uh, on Bloom Street, in town.”

Gill nodded. “Alright. Bloom Street.”

They straightened up, and Gill had to dash off to meet Wilson at a shooting in Moss Side. Julie headed back to the break room, silently furious at the prospect of having to clean an exploded Pot Noodle out of the microwave, and fizzing with nervous energy at the prospect of taking Gill out to the women’s disco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH so sorry it's been so long since I've updated. Uni is doing me in, what's new. Hope you like this instalment! I have much planned for these two...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The alcoholic afternoons when we sat in your room, they meant more to me than any living thing on Earth."

“Oi, Queen Kong, get over here, and bring me me daybook.”

Usually, Julie would snap at one of Smith’s lame jokes about her height, call him a “pig bastard” as he and Wilson cooed at her like schoolboys and threatened to dob her in for foul language. But today, her heart hadn’t stopped fluttering, and she couldn’t help herself from breaking into a tightlipped smile every time her mind wandered.

Gill was coming out tonight.

A night out with Gill was always occasion for Julie to be happy, of course. They’d had some particularly raucous nights over the years—including one where they’d taken over the jukebox down at The Didsbury, playing only Blondie and David Bowie, which ended with Gill getting up onto the table in her long heeled boots and knocking a glass over in the process—and so Julie knew that they were in for a good time.

But this time was particularly special, because of where they were heading. Bloom Street. The women’s disco. Julie had joked with Cheryl about this countless times, of course, and now she couldn’t wait to see Cheryl’s expression when the pair of them walked in.

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully. Julie managed to avoid snapping either Smith’s or Wilson’s necks, and as Gill finished her shift, she mentioned picking her up in a taxi for around 10ish.

“Can’t wait, slap. Have a good rest of your shift. See you then,” Gill had said with a wink, as she threw her coat on and walked out of the station.

Desperate to clock out, Julie had raced home, and promptly emptied her entire wardrobe onto her floor in an attempt to decide what to wear. Clearly, nothing was good enough.

“Do you want a cup—” Caroline, Julie’s housemate had started, entering her bedroom. “Blimey, your wardrobe exploded, or something?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” Julie said wearily with a sigh. “No, just can’t decide what to wear…”

Caroline began to grin, positioning herself on the edge of Julie’s bed, which was also piled high with various tops and trousers. “Got a hot date, have we?”

“Just off out with Gill…” Julie murmured, holding a purple skirt against her waist before discarding it amongst the other pieces littering her floor.

Caroline smirked. “Only off out with Gill and you can’t even string an outfit together? I think this might be a date…”

“It’s NOT a date,” Julie snapped.

Caroline shrugged her shoulders and moved to the doorway. “Methinks the lesbian doth protest too much…”

Thankfully, she left the room before the boot Julie threw in her direction could hit her.

Julie collapsed on the bed, running a hand through her hair. It wasn’t a date. It was her and her best mate, who she coincidentally was more than slightly in love with, going on a night out, as they had done many, many times over the years. The only catch was that this time, it was to a gay women’s club. But that didn’t make it a date. No, Julie Dodson was certainly not in the game of chasing a straight woman. Fantasising about her, sure. Imagining their lives together in an alternate future where Gill was also gay and deeply in love with her, sure. But she kept that fantasy safe and sound where it belonged, up in her head. No, this was just two friends on a night out. At a lesbian club night.

She picked up the skirt she had tossed onto the floor, smoothing its creases in the mirror. What if Gill freaked out when they got there? What if this was too much, too quick? She had only a week ago panicked at being told Julie was a lesbian, never mind being in a room full of them…

Julie glanced at the clock and realised it was time to stop stressing and time to get dressed if she was going to be picking Gill up any time soon. She pulled on the ankle-length skirt and threw on a favourite Smiths t-shirt and bolted downstairs, ignoring the smile creeping on her face at the thought of anyone mistaking her and Gill for a couple tonight.

Head flat against the cracked leather seat of the taxi, she stared out into the dark Manchester night. The cab sailed down the streets where she grew up, as desolate as the day she was born and more crime-ridden than ever. Her teachers at school had told her to get out, as fast as she could, that she was bright enough to go to university and get her degree. She had thought about that, had gone down on the train and looked at a psychology course in London. She was on track to get the grades for it, and as Head Girl she knew she’d get the right references from her teachers.

After looking round the college, she had hopped on a bus to an area called Notting Hill. She had read in a newsletter a couple of weeks before her trip that there was a pub where women who liked other women could meet each other and talk. After getting lost amongst the maze of perfectly uniform white Victorian terraces, she eventually emerged outside the pub.

She stood outside, clutching the strap of her tote bag with both hands, her flared trousers whipping against her ankles in the September breeze.

“Well, are you coming in, or what?”

Julie turned to see a tiny shorthaired woman in a black trench coat stood beside her, sucking determinedly on the end of a cigarette. She was older than Julie, more confident, more collected. She had a multitude of pink badges pinned to her lapel, reading things like “Campaign for Homosexual Equality,” and “How Dare You Presume I’m Heterosexual.” Julie also noted that the woman, like her, had an accent; though not from Manchester, she sounded like the miners who were always on the telly.

“I’m only seventeen,” Julie had mumbled weakly, scuffing her beat up Doc Martens against the pavement.

The woman chuckled, throwing the cigarette to the ground. “I’ll buy you a coke.”

Julie followed the woman inside, who had introduced her to a group of women who had apparently taken over that section of the pub. Some of them, like Mavis, the miners’ daughter from County Durham, had short hair and wore leather jackets or long trench coats. Others had longer hair, some even wore pale pink lipstick; but all of them sported badges with slogans similar to Mavis’s, who explained over a pint as dark as tobacco that they were all apart of a group called Sappho, who met weekly to socialise and discuss activist issues.

Later, as Julie ran onto the platform to catch the last train home, waved off by Mavis and a group of girls from Sappho, she felt her heart threatening to burst through her chest. As Euston faded away, she smiled, realising she had at last found where she needed to be, and wishing the next twelve months would slip away as fast as possible.

Of course, she never made it to London. Her mum had gotten worse, had lost her job at the care home after another nurse had realised she was drunk. Julie pissed away her A levels, missing her History lessons to clean up her mum’s sick and put her to bed. Her dad was no help; he was just as bad as her mum, except he wasn’t stupid enough to drink on the job.

She left sixth form with two C’s and a D, missing the entry requirements she was previously predicted to exceed. The university had no choice but to rescind her offer, leaving Julie with nothing but two pissed-up parents with temper problems. Mavis wrote a couple of times after Julie never arrived in September, but she never had it in her to reply. The dream had died. What was the point in deluding herself?

The cab came to a sharp stop outside of Gill’s house, jolting Julie out of her head and back into the present. She smiled, looking through the window and seeing Gill, her tiny stature drowned in an oversized denim jacket, fiddling with the keys to her front door. Julie wondered if Gill had been able to notice her face lighting up at the sight of her from inside the cab.

“Hiya slap,” she said, slamming the door beside her, and infusing the space between them with the scent of her pretty perfume reserved only for nights out and special dates. “You ready?”

Gill grinned, genuine and lovely, and Julie managed to choke out a “yeah” in response before directing the driver up to Bloom Street. She had never been more ready for anything in her life.

* * *

As the cab pulled up outside 61 Bloom Street, Gill wasn’t sure what to expect. She vaguely recognised the area, not because she’d ever been there herself, but because it was where those lads were stabbed, and where the GMP were committing most of their raids.

Julie led them into the venue, all legs in her swishy purple skirt. Gill watched as she greeted the girl on the door—clearly her mate was known round these parts.

“Alright, Jules?” the girl beamed. Her hair was cropped short, like a schoolboy’s, Gill thought, and her circular glasses matched the maroon bowler hat perched on her head. The pinkish skin of her chest bore a floral tattoo.

“Hiya, Chris,” Julie replied, with a casual nod that seemed too cool for the woman Gill knew. “Two, please,” she said, extending her hand which Chris reached out and stamped.

“This your—” Chris started.

“Friend,” Julie said, quickly, flashing a quick look at Gill, who was unfazed.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Gill,” she smiled, outstretching her hand for Chris to stamp.

“Very nice to meet you, too, Gill,” Chris replied, before flashing a smile at Julie. “Go on in. Have a lovely night, ladies.”

“Thanks,” Julie said, in a voice that sounded like a grimace, taking Gill by the hand and pulling her through the beaded curtain.

Still clutching Julie’s hand, though she wasn’t sure why, Gill surveyed the dark room before her. She felt silly, sheepish, even, recalling her preconceptions of what a “gay club” might look like—she had pictured gyrating men in leather and black PVC, moving ferociously to Donna Summer or some other disco diva. What was presented to her was…rather different.

It wasn’t a big place—nothing at all like the Haçienda, which she had frequented in her younger days—in fact, it reminded her of her childhood spent down at the social club where her dad drank. There were women sat in booths and at tables, talking quietly, leaning over to each other’s ears in order to be heard over the thump of the house soundtrack. The DJ, a slight woman with a buzzcut, bobbed her head in time with the music, pulling off her leather jacket as the heat in the room rose. There were women dancing, women hugging each other in greeting, women kissing passionately, women kissing delicately, women sharing glasses of wine…they were all women.

“You want a drink?” Julie said, leaning down to speak into Gill’s ear, who shivered suddenly at the contact.

“Yeah—pint, please,” Gill replied, eyes still surveying the room. She was now looking at a butch couple who had descended on the dance floor, moving in time with the beat, clearly pleased with the DJ’s song selection.

“Ah,” Julie said, “that may be a problem.”

“What d’you mean?” Gill said, breaking her stare to crane her neck up at Julie.

Julie gestured towards the space before them. “No bar. This place isn’t licensed. It’s not an actual club.”

“What,” Gill said in disbelief, “you’re telling me this is a sober event?” She was hardly alcohol dependent, but she liked a drink on a night out—and she knew Julie did, too.

“No, nitwit,” Julie said, shaking her head, and rummaging in her bag, produced a bottle of wine. “It’s strictly BYOB. Red okay?”

Gill grinned. "You know it is.”

They found a table in the corner, and Julie set out the bottle and a couple of cups she’d brought from her kitchen. They toasted the first cup—“to new experiences”—and Gill peered about as the club around her filled up. She glanced back at Julie, who was smiling brightly and waving at a woman across the room.

“Didn’t realise I was out with Lady Di herself,” Gill quipped, sipping at the lukewarm wine.

Julie rolled her eyes. “Hardly,” she said, although she was now raising her eyebrows in recognition of yet another woman walking past their table.

Gill placed her glass down and leant back in her chair, tilting her head back. “That girl earlier…Chris. She wanted to ask earlier if I were your date.”

Julie’s eyes snapped back into focus, roaming over Gill’s face with an unmistakable look of panic. She sipped her drink and didn’t say anything.

The wine was flowing through Gill’s veins. She’d missed dinner and was feeling particularly lightheaded. Plus, the music was so loud inside that she thought if she said anything particularly risky, she could shrug it off and pretend Julie had misheard.

“Would that be such a problem?” she said, folding her arms together tightly, knowing the way it would make her chest look. She had chosen the top, the white one with the low plunge, not with Julie in mind, exactly; she just knew it made her look good, was all. She couldn’t stop a smile forming at the edges of her mouth as Julie’s eyes briefly flitted downwards before returning to her face.

“Not a problem, as such,” Julie stumbled, face flushing a little. “I just…didn’t want you to feel awkward,” she said.

Why was Gill enjoying the sight of a flustered Julie Dodson so much? It was almost…sweet, which was a word she never thought she would use to describe the strong, stubbornly independent copper before her.

“Clearly, being your date carries some clout here,” Gill continued, leaning forwards, topping up Julie’s glass. “Maybe being Julie Dodson’s bitch wouldn’t be such a bad thing?”

They both paused, looking at one another across the table, unsure of each other for a moment. They both erupted into laughter, barely penetrating the thumping bass.

“My bitch?” Julie cried, incredulous, wiping tears from her eyes. “God, you make me sound like…a pimp, or something. Christ alive, Gill.”

“I don’t know!” Gill exclaimed with a laugh. “I don’t know the terminology. I’m new to all this.”

Julie clutched her stomach, tender from their uproarious laughter. “Just…date, Gill. Or girlfriend, or partner. We’re lesbians, not a sex cult.”

“Got it,” Gill said, serious all of a sudden. “Not…a…sex…cult,” she said, pretending to scribble it down into a notebook.

“C’mon slap,” Julie said, getting up. “Can’t come out to Bloom Street without a dance. I love this one,” she said.

Julie extended Gill her hand, and they descended on the dance floor, Gill covering her mouth as she laughed at Julie’s wild moves. This was going to be one to remember, she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope you like this update! I had a lot of fun writing it, and there is of course, more to come. Thanks as always for your lovely comments, they mean a lot to me. Thoughts are as ever appreciated! I know it goes a little off the main plot, but I just love exploring Julie as a character and her imagined backstory... I don't know, I say it goes off the plot, I think it's still important to the plot. Hope you like that part as much as I enjoyed writing it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Darling, there's a place for us. Can we go before I turn to dust?"

It was just after 1 and Julie felt like she had been dancing for far longer than she really had. She was only 28 but her body just couldn’t handle nights out like it did ten years ago. Truth be told, she was more than ready to pack it in and call it a night, maybe pick up a kebab on the way home, but then she looked over at Gill, and told herself she could stand another hour or so.

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she gazed at Gill. Her pretty curls were piled high on her head, with little wisps framing her face, which was gleaming in the heat of the now packed room. The lights changed from blue to green to red, casting her in a muted glow of light each time. As the place filled out, they were pushed closer together, til Gill actually placed her hands on Julie’s hips to steady herself. The wine now running freely through her veins, instead of blushing as she usually would have done, she moved into Gill’s touch. At first, she looked surprised, before beginning to laugh and sliding her hands up Julie’s waist in response. Julie also began to laugh, taking Gill’s hands and pulling her in close for a tight hug, moving her side to side in time with the music.

The warmth of her tiny body, the scent of her perfume, the feeling of her hands around her waist, the anonymity of the disco, and the red wine flowing through her blood; all of it combined to make Julie almost foolish enough to lean down and kiss her, there and then. But she was able to stop herself. This was no different than their other nights out, just this time, it was on Julie’s turf, rather than in their usual straight haunts.

Suddenly, Gill pulled away, making Julie’s eyes widen in panic. She then realised that Gill was waving at someone. Who on Earth could DC Gill Murray know at the Manchester Gay Women’s Disco?

The spotlight flashed over the crowd and Julie spun around, puzzled, before recognising the familiar blonde topknot and pair of pink heels speedily moving towards her.

“Cheryl!” Gill cried, in a way that made Julie realise she was also tipsy. “How nice to see you!”

“Gill,” Cheryl said, surprised, returning her hug. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Have a drink with us! We’ve got loads of wine!” she said, winking, making Julie raise her eyebrows.

“I’d love to, but now isn’t…” Cheryl said, before turning to Julie. “Jules, you’ve gotta…leave, now.”

Julie frowned, uncertain. “Cheryl, what do you mean?” Gill, meanwhile, was back in her own world, bopping along to the Mel & Kim song that was clearing the dance floor.

“It’s Zoe, I—she—,” Cheryl started, but she didn’t need to finish the sentence. Julie saw a very drunk Zoe pushing her way through the crowd and was able to put two and two together.

“Oh shit, Cheryl, why did you tell her?” Julie groaned.

“Oi!” said Zoe, breaking Gill from her reverie and snapping her back into reality. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Dodson?”

Zoe was shorter than Gill, but stocky, and Julie knew she could and would fight. She was a farmer’s daughter from Yorkshire, who now worked as a mechanic. She was also younger than Cheryl, and didn’t always have her head screwed on the right way round. Julie knew she’d had some run-ins with the police as a teenager back home, but had managed to keep herself to herself since moving to Manchester. Well, Julie thought, unless she does anything stupid tonight.

“Look, Zoe, I’m sorry,” Julie said, approaching her. “But just—don’t do anything you’ll regret, alright?”

Zoe laughed, running a hand through her dark shoulder-length hair. “This you in cop mode, yeah? This the big DC Julie Dodson, telling me what I can and can’t do?”

“Zoe, don’t,” Cheryl pleaded, pressing a manicured hand onto her arm, which she immediately shook off.

“What’s going on?” Gill said, eyes darting between the three women. “Jules?”

“Oh,” said Zoe, with a sniff. “Nothing daft, love. Only DC Dodson here’s shagged my girlfriend, and I don’t take very kindly to traitorous pig-loving dykes such as your girlfriend sticking her bony fucking fingers where they don’t belong. That’s all.”

Julie cringed, wishing for Zoe to have said anything but that.

“Julie?” Gill said, looking up at her. “Is this true?”

“Yeah,” Zoe answered, “go on, tell your little girlfriend what you did, Julie.” She had begun to raise her voice now. “Tell her how you fucked my girlfriend, you self-hating Thatcher-loving piece of shit,” Zoe said, before punching Julie in the face, knocking her backwards.

“You get the fuck away from her, lady! And go and wash your hair while you’re at it, ’n all!” Gill cried, closing the distance between Julie and Zoe, all 5 ft 5 of her squaring up. “And for your information, I am also a detective with the Greater Manchester Police, so you just lay another finger on my girlfriend and I’ll have you.”

“Right—out,” Chris said, approaching from behind with another couple of women, who led Zoe to the exit. After repeated apologies to her and Gill, and a promise to ring Julie soon, Cheryl ran on out after her, leaving the two of them on the dance floor, blood dripping from Julie’s nose.

“Fucking hell, Jules, you alright?” Gill said, as Julie clutched her nose, which was pouring blood onto her white Smiths t-shirt.

Julie nodded. “Yeah, fine, just—can you get us some tissue?”

“Come on,” Gill said, taking her by the hand and leading her to the toilet, glaring at the women who had stopped to stare at them, leaving Julie barely any time to process the words that had left Gill’s lips only moments earlier.

She grabbed a bunch of toilet paper and thrust it towards Julie, who held it up to her nose, as Gill set to work dabbing at the dried blood that had trickled down Julie’s face. Julie chanced a look down for a second, smiling slightly at the look of serious concentration on Gill’s face, as she began to focus her attention on the splotches on Julie’s t-shirt.

“Ah—don’t worry about that, Gill. It won’t come out,” Julie said, brushing Gill’s hand away.

“Speaking from experience, are we?” Gill said, continuing to dab at the t-shirt. “Is it often you find yourself getting your nose blown in by the partner of someone you’ve cheated with?”

“Not often,” Julie said, smirking. “Only twice.”

Gill looked up at her, unamused, before breaking into a smile. “You are fucking ridiculous, Julie Dodson, you know that?”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Julie grinned, cautiously removing the tissue from her nose to check that the blood had stopped.

“Keep it in your fucking pants, for Christ’s sake!” Gill said, shaking her head, taking the tissue from Julie and tossing it in the bin.

“Will do, ma’am,” Julie said, standing to attention, provoking another eye roll from Gill.

They stepped out into the street, walking side by side along the canal. It was late and the city lights from the various pubs and clubs were reflecting in the water, the lampposts casting them both in a warm glow. Julie, only in her now blood-soaked t-shirt, begun to shiver, and Gill pulled off her denim jacket and handed it to her. Julie knew better than to fight back, that her tiny but stubborn companion would not be taking “no” for an answer.

“Sorry for ruining the night,” Julie mumbled, pulling on the jacket which, while oversized on Gill, fit her perfectly.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Gill said, smiling up at her. “I had a great time.”

“Really?” Julie said in disbelief.

“Yes,” Gill said, taking Julie’s arm in hers. “If anyone were to have ruined anything, it was that pigheaded idiot. Where the hell’d Cheryl find her, anyway?”

Julie shook her head, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know what she sees in her. She can be…exciting, I suppose. Unpredictable. Some people like that. The drama of it all.”

Gill seemed unconvinced. “Cheryl seems…too sensible for that sort of nonsense.”

Julie sighed in agreement. “She is.”

“You like her, don’t you?” Gill said, suddenly, eyes focused on the moonlit waterside.

“What? No. Why would you even say that?” Julie responded in alarm. “She’s just a mate.”

“You fucked her. She answered the door in your t-shirt, if I’ve got me facts straight,” said Gill, eyes still averting Julie’s frowning gaze.

“Yeah, well, there’s a difference between fancying someone and fucking them,” Julie replied.

“And,” Gill said, breath catching a little as she became braver, “is there a difference in how you fuck ‘em? Depending on…whether you fancy ‘em, or not.”

Julie felt heat rise up her chest and flood her cheeks, as she wondered what on Earth had got into Gill and where exactly this was going. “Yeah, I, er, I suppose so. More passionate with someone you actually fancy…same as with a man and woman, I’d guess,” she mumbled, suddenly aware of Gill’s arm in hers.

Gill stopped, turning to face Julie, who looked down at the woman before her, the best woman she knew, the bravest, the smartest, the funniest…the most beautiful. Her gorgeous angular face still bore a sheen of sweat, and her white top had ridden up slightly to expose a bare strip of flesh round her midriff. Before Gill had even spoken, Julie started to smile, completely and utterly enamoured with her best friend in a way she had never been with anyone before.

“I’ve…never been with a woman before,” Gill breathed, looking up at Julie.

Julie swallowed, feeling her pulse beginning to race. “Gill…” she whispered, unsure of what else to say.

Gill reached up, taking Julie’s cheek in her palm, who inhaled sharply in response. “It’s okay, Jules,” Gill said. “I want this…don’t…don’t you?” she said, suddenly worried she had overstepped.

“I don't think I’ve ever wanted anything more,” Julie replied, and before she knew it, she had moved Gill’s hand down to her waist before bringing her in for a kiss.

And she hadn’t, truthfully, ever wanted anything more. And it was everything that she had ever thought it would be, having pictured the same scene in her head so many times before bed, when daydreaming in the office, whilst eating lunch together, and most often, after a night out, tucked up in Julie’s bed, Gill sleeping softly next to her.

Gill leant in, desperate for more of Julie’s kiss, putting her hands on Julie’s bony hips and pulling her in closer still. Julie responded by sliding her hands over the exposed area of skin at Gill’s waist, before moving one hand up to rest on her chest, causing Gill to gasp into Julie’s mouth. In retaliation, Gill pushed her hand underneath Julie’s t-shirt, before moving up and gingerly cupping a breast through her bra.

“Jesus, Gill,” Julie managed to murmur, pulling away from the kiss to glance down at Gill, whose expression was a mix of both mischief and nervousness.

“Y’want me to stop?” Gill asked, her breathing ragged and heavy.

“Yes—no—not—yes, but—” Julie stammered, overwhelmed by the reality of the situation and the devastating beauty of her best friend, looking up at her with the hazel eyes she had stared into so many times before, dreaming of being with her in this way.

“Yes, but not here, because we’re liable to get done for public indecency?” Gill finished for her, smirking as Julie nodded. “Mine or yours then?”

“Yours—closer,” Julie replied, wondering if she was at all remotely capable of stringing together a full sentence at the present moment in time, and with that, they booked it down the street to the nearest taxi rank.

The ride back to Gill’s was excruciating. They sat in silence the whole fifteen minutes, the driver continually glancing at them in the mirror—they must have looked as if they’d had some massive falling out. Gill gazed out the window as they soared down the empty darkness of Princess Street, and Julie wondered if she was doubting her decision, if they’d turn up at her house and Gill would say, “actually, slap, we’d better not.” Julie watched her, nibbling away at her chipped red nail, and suddenly reached for her free hand, taking it in hers. Gill jumped slightly, before softening at Julie’s touch, allowing her hand to be held, allowing Julie in.

Julie paid the driver and then they were stood in Gill’s hallway, looking at each other in a way they never had before. It was quiet, and Julie didn’t know what to do, not with Gill; she knew how she’d take it with the usual girls she’d pick up at the disco, but this was Gill, the woman who meant everything to her, who had never done anything like this before. Just one look from her and Julie was feeling like a bumbling sixth former at a party.

Gill sensed Julie’s nervousness, that the older woman was working herself up in her mind about taking advantage or making her uncomfortable, or something else equally ridiculous. So she closed the space between them, leaning up to take Julie’s cheek in her palm again, and whispered, “it’s okay, slap…let’s go upstairs.”

Her use of their mutual nickname made Julie smile, her cheek easing into Gill’s touch, tension melting away at the softness of her gaze and kindness of her eyes. Needing no further convincing, Julie responded by pressing her lips against Gill’s for the second time that night, but in a way that was hungrier, needier, more desperate than they had had to be in public, taking her by the hand as they raced into her bedroom.

“I’ve wanted this off you all night,” Julie breathed, pulling Gill’s top up and over her head as she backed her against the wall and moved in to plant kisses down her now exposed chest.

Gill sighed, turning her head to grant Julie better access, murmuring “oh, Jules”, and occasionally just “slap…”, making Julie grin.

Julie made her way down to Gill’s waist, beginning to undo the buttons on her jeans, before Gill took hold of her hand, stopping her in the act.

“I want…” Gill started, voice small all of a sudden. “I want…to see you,” she said, pulling weakly at Julie’s bloodstained t-shirt. “All of you…” she finished, trailing off, breathless.

Julie gently pressed Gill down onto the bed, before pulling her t-shirt off, being careful to avoid her nose which was now starting to fizzle with pain from where it had gotten cut up. She pulled her skirt down, stepping out of it and tossing it aside.

She returned her gaze to Gill, who had wriggled out of her jeans and was now sat looking up at Julie, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Julie wasn’t sure how she had gotten quite so lucky. There was nobody else but Gill, never had been, never would be, and with all her brains and bravery and stunning beauty, here she was, taking Julie by the wrist and pulling her in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Julie getting her nut punched in. I think Gill more than made up for it, though. Hope you like this update !! I wasn't sure if people wanted to read G&J getting it on, or not...


	8. Chapter 8

Julie couldn’t quite believe that she was doing this. They had shared a bed together so many times, after nights out, or after wine and a film when one of them couldn’t be bothered to make the trip home. But now, here they were, in Gill’s bedroom, doing things Julie had only dreamed of, had kept stored away in the recesses of her mind, never to be spoken aloud. Until now.

She hovered over Gill, eyes poring over her gorgeous skin, bare except for her lavender bra and underwear. Her breathing was ragged and heavy, and Julie placed a tentative hand on Gill’s chest, feeling the warm skin rise and fall. Gill inhaled at her touch, eyes wide, exploring Julie’s face. Encouraged, Julie moved her hand to cup Gill’s breast through her bra, squeezing it delicately. Gill sighed, and Julie moved in to her neck, trailing soft kisses down her throat, still kneading at her breast, eliciting little moans from Gill.

“You’re beautiful,” Julie breathed between placing searing hot kisses down Gill’s chest. “I’ve wanted to do this…for so long.”

“Yeah?” Gill smiled softly, wrapping her hands around Julie’s neck, pulling her kisses in closer. “And what is it you want to do to me?”

“Want to make you feel good. Want to hear you moan,” Julie said through kisses, slipping her hand under Gill’s bra. “Want to fuck you,” she whispered.

Gill inhaled sharply, feeling Julie nip at her neck, softly biting the bare flesh. “Then do it,” she said. “I want you to fuck me, slap.”

Julie slid a hand around the small of Gill’s back, reaching up to unhook her bra. Gill shimmied and the lavender material slipped away, leaving her chest exposed. She leant down and placed her lips on Gill’s breast, licking and sucking gently, feeling her nipple harden in her mouth. She snaked a hand down Gill’s slender hips, tracing her fingers up and down her thighs and thumbing the waist of her underwear. Gill whimpered Julie’s name, urging her on.

She pressed her fingers against Gill’s underwear, the lace warm to the touch. Slowly, she rubbed against the wet fabric, and Gill pushed up against her in response, desperate to feel more. She increased the pace, working her fingers harder, until she felt Gill’s hand on hers, pushing her underwear aside and forcing Julie’s fingers in.

Julie took her time enjoying Gill’s little cries and exclamations of “oh, slap”, rubbing softly at her clit with one finger and teasing her now slick entrance with another. Finally, after letting her writhe around, bucking up against Julie’s fingers, she slid a finger in, and slowly began to work away at Gill.

“You can use more than one, Jules” she whispered after a few moments, “I’m not a virgin.”

Julie grinned. “Coulda fooled me,” she replied, “you’re a vision of chastity.”

Gill began a retort, something involving calling Julie a rough old tart, but her words were lost to the sudden moan that left her lips as Julie inserted a further finger. For someone who had never been with a woman before, Gill certainly straddled Julie’s finger like she knew what she was doing, keening and moving up into her touch. Gill’s own fingers were working away at her clit as Julie quickened her pace, pumping in and out. She watched Gill’s face in disbelief that she was the one here, making her cry out like that. Gill thrust her hips, meeting her rhythm, and Julie moved in to kiss at her neck and ear, whispering about how good she felt, how she had wanted to do this for so long, how perfect she was.

She felt Gill tense up, and her soft moans and breaths became shallower. She knotted her fingers in Julie’s hair and pulled her in close, gasping her name interspersed with breathy pleading to keep going.

“Jules…don’t stop, don’t…”

“More?” Julie asked.

“More,” Gill replied, “just…don’t stop, Jules, harder…”

So Julie worked her fingers harder, placing hot kisses against Gill’s neck and pouring filth into her ear, calling her a good girl, noting the way it made her squirm and writhe in pleasure, and how it made her work at her clit faster. Suddenly, she felt Gill tense up, and her cries became more frequent until she finally collapsed, Julie’s name ringing from her lips.

Gill lay there, catching her breath, and Julie slowly withdrew her fingers. Gill reached for Julie, fingers outstretched, needing to feel her, to grab onto something, she didn’t care what, she just needed to touch her. She landed on her hand, linking it in hers, squeezing it, before pulling her in close for a soft kiss. Julie placed a hand on Gill’s cheek, before pulling away and resting her head on her chest, which was still rising and falling as her breathing regained its regular rhythm.

“That was…” Gill said, finally, her fingers threading through Julie’s hair.

“The best shag of your life?” Julie finished for her.

“Well,” Gill said, “not far off.”

They sat like that in silence for a few moments, Julie’s head rising with Gill’s chest, who was still twirling strands of blonde hair through her fingers. Julie thought she could lie there like that forever, Gill’s arm around her, breathing in the sweet scent of her perfume.

“I never…” Gill started, breaking the silence. “I never, um…really thought about it before.”

Julie propped herself up on her elbow, running a hand over Gill’s stomach. “About what?”

“Being with a woman, I suppose,” Gill replied. “Just never really occurred to me. But I liked it. A lot.”

Julie’s cheeks coloured, and she began to smile. “Well, I’m glad,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Gill took Julie’s chin in her hands, raising her head up to look in her eyes. “You’re exquisite,” she breathed.

“Thanks,” Julie said. “You’re alright, you know. Not the best I’ve ever had, but—”

“Shut up,” Gill interrupted, rolling her eyes, “and come ‘ere.” She brought Julie’s lips to her own, pulling her in for another kiss.

The kiss deepened, and Julie felt herself becoming more and more frustrated by the soft little noises Gill was making. Just as she was about to slide her finger in for round two, Gill pulled away.

“Thirsty,” she said, and Julie had to concede she did sound a little croaky.

“Water do?” Julie asked, slipping out of bed and pulling her now bloody Smiths t-shirt back on. Gill nodded and so Julie padded downstairs, thinking she could do with some hangover prevention herself, come to think of it.

As she filled the glasses up with water, a smile spread across Julie’s face. She couldn’t quite believe what had just happened; didn’t think she ever would. Gill was the most gorgeous thing she had ever seen and there she was, just upstairs, waiting for her in bed.

Julie froze suddenly, sensing a presence behind her. She softened at the realisation that it was Gill, turning around to face her.

“Nearly gave me a heart attack,” Julie breathed, taking a gulp of water.

“What, big copper like you scared of a little thing like me?” Gill taunted, reaching for her glass.

Julie caught Gill’s wrist, placing it onto her waist. “Could never be scared of you,” she murmured, taking Gill’s hip and pulling her in close.

“Really?” Gill replied. “That’s a shame, cause I quite like the idea of DS Julie Dodson whimpering in fear underneath me.”

Julie scoffed, although she caught her breath quickening and her heart beginning to race a little as Gill pushed her softly against the kitchen counter and began to snake her hand under her t-shirt, caressing her waist before moving up to her breast. Julie noticed that Gill was stood on her tiptoes, and began to smirk, until Gill noticed this and pulled Julie’s underwear to one side and began to rub softly against her clit, making her gasp like some sort of twat in a John Hughes film.

This wasn’t the way things were meant to go. In her (many) fantasies, Julie was always the one fucking Gill—with her mouth, with her fingers, sometimes with a strap-on, if she was feeling particularly hot and it was a slow day at work. Julie was a pleaser and always had been, although she couldn’t deny the tiny groans escaping her lips as Gill began to work harder at her. "Fucking hell, has she done this before?” she thought, awestruck at how Gill was fucking her as if it was Julie who was the one who’d never been with a woman before.

“God, Gill”, she moaned, surprising herself.

“C’mon,” Gill said, pulling away suddenly. “I want to do this upstairs. In my bed.”

Before Julie knew it, she was lying down in Gill’s bed, tangled up in her pastel pink sheets, watching as the smaller woman nestled herself on top of her. She pulled off the t-shirt she had thrown on, revealing her pert breasts, and Julie could have sworn she saw her smirk as if she was enjoying giving her this little show. Julie was certainly enjoying watching it, anyway, and she caught herself biting her lip as Gill bounced a little to get herself comfortable as she straddled Julie. She reached out to touch her, but Gill batted her hand away.

“I want to make you feel good now, slap,” she whispered, and Julie groaned at her touch, as well as at her use of their mutual nickname in such a setting.

Gill began to stroke softly at Julie’s clit, teasing little circles up and down and quickening her pace in response to Julie’s quiet pants and stifled moans. “DS Dodson,” she chuckled, as Julie began to push against Gill’s hand, desperate for more, “we’re a little needy, aren’t we?”

“Shut…up…slap,” Julie panted, “and put…your fucking fingers…inside me.”

“Only cause I like you so much,” Gill grinned, happy to oblige as she pushed two fingers inside, enjoying the gasp it provoked from Julie.

As she settled into a rhythm, she held Julie’s face with her free hand, softly stroking the gorgeous cheekbones. “Want you to see me, slap,” she murmured, focusing Julie’s face again as she began to fidget underneath her.

She looked gorgeous up there and she knew it, and didn’t want Julie to spend all her time with her head on the pillow, missing out on the show she was putting on for her. She also wanted to see Julie, to drink her in, to see her face and know that she was the one to make her feel so good.

“Are you going to come, Jules?” Gill said, barely more than a whisper.

Julie nodded, and Gill pumped harder still, until she felt Julie clench around her fingers. “Gill,” was all she could say. “Gill,” she said again, wondering if Gill had somehow reprogrammed her brain to only know the one word.

Gill eased off of Julie, and lay down next to her, cuddling into her embrace. “That was…” Julie started, one hand in her hair, the other around Gill’s shoulder.

“The best shag of your life?” Gill said, smiling.

“Yeah,” Julie replied. “It kind of was, actually…have you really never been with a woman before? It’s just, you were so confident…”

“Never," Gill said, climbing from on top of Julie to nestle in beside her, the taller pulling her close. “Thought about it, a bit,” she said, quieter this time.

“Well,” Julie sighed, switching off the lamp on the bedside table, “I’m very proud that I can say I was the best shag of Gill Murray's life.”

“Shut up, slap,” Gill said, “gloating doesn’t suit you.”

* * *

Julie awoke the next morning with a head on the size of Bet Lynch’s hair. Gill was still sleeping softly next to her, so Julie crept downstairs to get herself a glass of water and to hunt for some paracetamol. Gill’s answerphone was beeping incessantly and it was not doing great things for her foggy head. She found some in the kitchen cupboard, where she also had a look for some bread, but of course, Gill being Gill, there was little going on in the way of food.

She scanned cabinets and saw odd bits and pieces that didn’t seem to fit together: tinned tomatoes and a single can of tuna, various herbs and spices, an unopened packet of spaghetti and a full tub of marmite. The only thing in there that had been touched, and that seemed remotely edible, was the jar of instant coffee, so Julie flicked the kettle on and grabbed a mug. She really had to remind Gill to eat properly, she thought.

As the water boiled, Julie surveyed the rest of the kitchen. She fingered the leaf of a rather sad looking cheese plant straining for a drop of sunlight in Gill’s dark kitchen. She smiled to herself—neither of them really had the aptitude nor the time to properly care for plants. She remembered the time she had mentioned to Gill that she was thinking about getting a cat, and Gill had actually choked on her cup of tea. Julie asked what was so funny and Gill, through peals of laughter, managed to get out, “Jules—you’d prob’ly—kill—the poor—thing”. She had sulked momentarily, before feeling a smile rise through her as Gill’s crazed laughter began to draw stares from the packed office, and before she knew it, she was laughing too. She didn’t get a cat.

The kettle boiled, Julie took a seat at the kitchen table and began to sip her mug of black coffee. Gill was also out of both sugar and milk, and Julie made a mental note to drag her to the big Safeway over in Hulme to do a proper shop soon.

“Morning, slap,” Gill said, yawning a little as she entered the kitchen. She was wearing the little pink robe Julie had seen slung against the back of her wardrobe, and her hair was tied up into a fussy little bun. Julie felt her cheeks colour at the sight of her.

“Hiya slap,” Julie replied, hoping her cheeks weren’t as pink as she thought they might be. “How’s the head?”

“Better than I thought it’d be for someone who necked most of a bottle of wine,” Gill replied, smiling, rummaging through her bare cupboards for something to eat.

Julie raised an eyebrow as Gill produced a bag of almonds from the back of the cupboard and began to nibble on them, apparently satisfied with her breakfast.

“Your answerphone’s been beeping,” Julie said, searching for something to say that wasn’t, “you’re magnificent, I think I might be slightly in love with you, can we please do last night again and again and again?”

“Oh,” Gill replied nonchalantly, still digging into the bag of almonds. “Mind playing ‘em while I put my coffee on?”

“Yeah, sure,” Julie said, “oh, and you’ve got no milk or sugar in, you daft woman.”

“I don’t drink milk!” Gill shouted down the hallway, “and I don’t take sugar!”

Julie rolled her eyes, glad that the paracetamol was beginning to take effect. She clicked play on the answering machine, which informed her that there were four new messages.

“Hello poppet, it’s me. Just wondering if you still fancy popping round for lunch on Sunday. Your dad’s got that old bookcase he can drop round as well if you let us know when you’re free. Alright poppet, speak to you soon, bye.”

 _Beep_.

“Hello, this is a message for Gillian Murray. Your prescription is ready for collection. We’re open Monday to Friday from 8:30 til 6:30. Thanks, bye.”

_Beep._

“Hi Gill, it’s Barbara. Sorry to've missed you. Suppose you’re busy fighting crime these days. Well, me and Phil are all settled in the new house over in Sheffield and we’d love to have you down for a weekend. If there’s…anyone special, feel free to bring them too. Give us a ring back, alright? Oh—you’ll need the new number! It’s 0709 661 2325. That’s 0709 661 2325. Miss you, Gilly. Bye.”

_Beep._

“Alright—I hope I’ve got the right number, had to look it up in directory. Julie, if you’re there, um, it’s Zoe. I’m, um, sorry about last night. You weren’t answering your phone, and Cheryl said you thought you’d be here, so… um, it’s Cheryl. The school, they’re letting her go. Because of promoting…homosexual…propaganda, or something ridiculous. We didn’t know who to call… can you just, ring us back, please?…if this is the wrong Gillian Murray in M19, well, sorry—”

Julie felt her heart sink in her chest. Oh, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how long it's taken me to get this up! Apologies!! But I do hope it was worth the wait. Who knew Gill was a bit of a secret top?... Hope you all like where the story's going, thoughts and feedback always appreciated!!<3


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